Sweethearts and Smoke Rings
by TolkienGirl
Summary: A little fluff/humor scene of our favorite dwarves, hobbit and wizard, gathered around the campfire in one of the few lulls in their journey, discussing…women. What else?


**A/N: ****It was a thought that just popped into my head and wouldn't leave till it was written. Plus, I've been reading so many sad and beautiful BO5A fics lately that I needed something humorous to cheer me up!**

**Disclaimer: nothing belongs to me except my imagination and my love for all things Tolkien. Also, Bell Goodchild has been incorporated before (by author Lynliss) and better, but I mentioned her here because she IS a canon character.**

**Enjoy, read, REVIEW (pretty please?), and do whatever you want. I hope it makes you smile!**

"Did ye ever have a sweetheart?"

Bilbo started at Bofur's question. There had been silence around the waning fire for some time, as everyone pulled thoughtfully at their pipes, except for Bombur, who was nibbling on tidbits of the last meal. Bilbo coughed on the haze of smoke rings that hovered above them and said, "Why would you ask such a question?"

"You were looking right wistful," Bofur supplied. "Thought you must be pining after a lovely little hobbit…hobbita? D'you have another name for the ladyfolk?"

"And are their feet just as furry?" Ori put in wonderingly.

Bilbo spluttered, finding that all eyes were on him—even Thorin's, which were skeptically amused, and Gandalf's, which were just…amused.

"I—yes, no. Yes, we are all called Hobbits. As for our feet—our feet serve us very well. And if you're going to ask that, what about the beards?"

"What about them?" Gloin tugged at his own.

"We hear tell," Bilbo explained more snobbishly than he would have owned to being, "That your women have _beards_."

He was met by a blank stare. "Of course they do," said a chorus of voices.

"But there not quite like _ours,_" Dori explained kindly. "They're finer, lighter, shorter—you barely notice them."

"Like Kili's," Fili elaborated, and Kili punched him.

"I…see." Bilbo didn't know what to say to that.

Bofur rejoined, undeterred, "You didn't answer the question. Do you or don't you?'

"Do I—what?" Bilbo was flustered. "Oh yes, have a sweetheart. No."

"I thought as much," Dwalin rumbled, sending a smoke ring spiraling up to dance above the flames. The company erupted in laughter at his words.

"Very funny," Bilbo rejoined, a bit snappishly. He'd hoped the more intimidating dwarves hadn't been paying attention, but apparently they had. "I don't even know why I am telling you lot this, but I _have_ had my chances."

"And she took hers by leaving you? Ooh, that's hard." Bofur's eyes sparkled with mischief.

"If you must know, _I_ ended it." The words popped out before Bilbo could stop them. "It was a long time ago," he added hurriedly. "And anyway, I didn't suppose _dwarves_ would be…familiar with all of that."

Another murmur of laughter went round the circle. "You know little of our kind, laddie," Balin informed him, with a twinkle in his eye. "Did you suppose we just—spring out of holes in the ground?"

"Prior to meeting your—company, I wasn't in the habit of _supposing_ anything about dwarves," Bilbo protested, very much on his dignity. "But I never had much credence in the rock theory, no."

"Well, that's a promising start," Balin comforted. "But I wouldn't have blamed you overmuch if you did. You see, dwarf women are rare—there's only a few. About a third of our race are womenfolk, leaving the men with scant choice. Many of us never marry."

"There's still hope for some of us," Bofur put in optimistically. "We're not all graybeards, not yet."

"I see some silver under that hat of yours," teased Fili.

"Listen to you younglings," Balin chided. "As though a few braids in your beard are enough to touch the heart of any eligible dwarf maid."

Fili and Kili laughed. "You'd be surprised," said Kili. "Back at home, it wasn't just dwarves. Humans, too. If they're short enough, that is."

There was general laughter, and some muttering among those who considered the mixing of races inappropriate.

"Come to think of it," said Kili, with a twinkle of mischievous humor in his eye—though he was nonetheless keeping an eye on his uncle to measure the length of how far he could push discussion of such a trivial matter—"We might have stayed a bit longer in your Shire…seen what pretty lasses you've left behind, the ones who took their chances." He sighed. "But for all we know, they might just be as portly and pompous as our Mr. Boggins!"

"It's _Baggins_," said Bilbo, almost more aggravated by that than by the idea of being "portly" and "pompous."

Kili only grinned, and File took a drag at his pipe and said dryly, "He knows."

"Then why—"

"That's why it's funny."

Bilbo gave up. "Well then, if you're all going to rag, have any of you—have any of you courted anyone?"

A flurry of hands flew up—Bombur put his down after a moment, seeming to rethink it, and Oin, Dori, Ori, and a few of the others didn't even try to make a case for themselves. But Kili had both his hands up.

"What's that about?" Bilbo asked.

Kili beamed smugly. "There's been more than one."

Fili shoved him. "What a lie! Just because you steal some girl's hair ribbon so you can give it back to her—"

"Fine." Kili put one of his hands down. "But there were still more than one. I'm _very _popular among the ladies—" A backhanded blow from his brother muffled the last word.

One of Gandalf's smoke-rings seem to shake with laughter as it ascended into the darkness.

"What about you, Thorin?" Fili asked after he had finished tussling with Kili, keeping his tone deferential, even if the question was impudent.

Thorin, who had been listening with carefully disguised interest, drew his brows together, a more familiar, grim expression crossing his proud features. "I do not let my mind tarry on matters of so little import."

"That means yes, but he won't talk about it," whispered his irrepressible youngest nephew, low enough that the formidable uncle might not hear.

"What was your sweetheart's name?" Ori asked of Bilbo, with what the two youngest of the line of Durin probably considered opportune timing. Thorin's eyebrows weren't promising.

"It doesn't matter," Bilbo said primly, but was immediately bowled over by repetitions of the question.

"What was her name?"

"Bell Goodchild," he divulged at last. Perhaps it didn't matter after all; they wouldn't know who she was. "After I ended it…she's…since moved on." Married to Hamfast Gamgee, but that detail hardly seemed relevant.

There was a brief pause of mock respect.

"Hard luck," muttered Gloin. "But make no mistake laddie, you're a decent sort…but you weren't man enough to keep her."

"Not man enough?" Bilbo sputtered. "I'd like to remind that I was the one who end—"

Kili patted his arm comfortingly. "When we get to Erebor, we'll find a pretty lass who's—stunted? Lame? Something. We'll make do. Height's a challenge we're used to the dealing with."

"Just find him a dwarf," suggested Fili.

Dwalin snorted.

"The beard," Bofur interjected. "How to explain it when only the woman has one?"

"That'd be right confusing," agreed the others gravely. "Wouldn't make our burglar look very fit to be head of the household. You'd have to do a lot of yelling, laddie."

"This is—ridiculous." Bilbo couldn't come up with a better word. "Positively ridiculous." He tapped his pipe with the air of one who had done with a conversation. "Are we done with questions, now, really?" Dabbing at a spot on his waistcoat—he was still attempting to deny to himself that that waistcoat was a lost cause—he shook his head. "I must say—"

"Just one more question," said Ori eagerly. "Have you ever tried growing a beard?"


End file.
